Celebrate the joy of Christmas memories

Memories are such a presence at Christmas. Leaving off the subtitles, memories are either good or not. I'm going to say yes every time to sharing and hearing spirit lifting memories.

It was busy around our house at Christmas, with my dad being a pastor and mom working as a nurse. But there was always time for fudge. Those colorful tins stashed on the attic stairs with chocolate, and peanut butter, and divinity inside! I wasn't above sneaking, and rearranging the contents so they still looked mostly full.

Thinking of my mother, she sang a soprano straight from heaven. Her signature song on Christmas Eve was “Sweet Little Jesus Boy.” When we moved to Alaska being away from the familiar was especially lonely that first Christmas. I took my portable tape player out under the stars and listened to mom sing her song in the cold night air — and Christmas came to the far north.

Terry and I like a real tree — but until we felled one with a bird's nest in it, we'd never thought of having real nature in our tree. Now we have three or four nests every year. Much later I learned a nest in the tree is a Scandinavian custom for bringing blessing in the home. My Norwegian great grandparents are surely smiling.

I thought I kissed my dad goodbye in the hospital one Christmas Eve. It was the strangest feeling — thinking of all the other beneath-the-mistletoe kissing going on that night. He rallied for a few more months — and his feeble greeting Christmas Day is one of my best gifts ever. That night taught me to pause in the festivities and consider — for me that usually means praying for — those who are grieving this time of year.

Terry and I did not have money for tree decorations our first Christmas. We made our own, and still have the gingerbread man cardboard tracing covered in gold foil with sequined mouth and nose and eyes. One gingerbread man who did not run away.

For years I told the story of “Why Christmas Trees Are Not Perfect” in elementary schools. As it turns out, this one was not perfect because it bent to shelter a frightened animal — and ended up crooked; it opened in a blizzard to let an exhausted bird find rest — and its branches gapped. 

Against the odds this tree was chosen to light the banquet room for the queen's ball. On her sleigh ride search for the perfect tree she saw the tracks, the feathers — and understood. I hope my life planting shows some tracks and feathers.

Terry and I were engaged Christmas Day — on the rock overlook along the Pend Oreille, east of the old Merritt Brothers Mill in Priest River. I really never knew what a chunk of rock that is until we moved back and see it daily from the other side of the river. It's held us up for 52 years.

I take a word or phrase from a Christmas carol and make it mine for the season. This year is joy from “Joy to the World.” It helped me yesterday. I was on the edge of blah — and remembered to remember joy. In life's sack of memories, Christmas or other, I can't forget to reach in and remember joy.